Chapter 9: Approaching the Keep

The trail winds up and down small forested hills, the dense canopy of the Witchwood shading out the increasingly hot morning sun. Suddenly, looming out of the shadowy woods ahead is a haunting sight, a ruined keep. The old castle sits on a small, rocky hillock, and you can catch glimpses of a broken tower between the trees. A moss-covered stone at the side of the road you're following marks a footpath that leads up to the keep.

Jorr crouches in the trampled brush near the mossy boulder.
Jorr (whisper): There she is.

Corrigan moves to crouch near Jorr, the rest of the group doing their best to stay hidden several paces back in the trees.

Corrigan: These are surely different woods than the ones I have encountered. What’s the plan?

Jorr: I got advice, but I ain’t in charge of no plans.

Keith: Okay. Advice, then?

Jorr: Well, these hobgobs ain't stupid. They're organized and well-armed.

Draggert is suddenly there, next to them, solemn and serious.
Draggert: We walk quiet to keep, then kill hobgoblins.

Jorr and Corrigan both stare at him for a long moment.

Corrigan: Simple enough.

Valandil: You know, I thought that was a great plan, too, and then I woke up full of arrows...

Jorr: As I said, they're organized and well-armed. I'd bet the string off my bow they got a lookout, probably up in the tower.

Draggert nods slowly.
Draggert: Ok. New plan. We walk to keep, then kill lookout.

Jorr ignores Draggert as he continues.
Jorr: Now, they do sleep during the day, so we might have a shot getting the drop on ‘em. But maybe not.

Draggert nods slowly.
Draggert: We walk quietly to keep, then.

Jorr looks at the trail and then the hillside.

Draggert looks at the trail and then the hillside.
Draggert’s face looks blank.

Jorr: We could head up this main path, being quiet like the orc says, and praying to Obad-Hai. Or, we could shimmy up that slope to the back of the keep and risk falling and breaking bones.

Draggert (quietly): Hehe. Obad-Hai. Sound funny.

Keith: Okay. Valandil, would you like to be in charge of the silent dispatching of the lookout, or would you, Corrigan, you sneakthief?

Valandil: I think I could manage it, as long as I can get a clear shot.

Throrin states plainly that he'll have none of climbing.

Keith: Well, I'd rather do it up close and personal. Corrigan, would you like to do so invisibly, then wait in the tower until we get there?

Corrigan: My pleasure.

Keith: And Draggert, when the time is right, I actually would like you to wade into the fray. I can protect you from the arrows.

Draggert: Fray?

Keith: It's wizard talk for fight.

Draggert: Ok.

Valandil: So that means you call yourself a wizard, then, boy?

Keith: I've been called one many more times that I've claimed it for myself.

Valandil chuckles quietly.
Valandil: Hmmm, when I was your age, just beginning my studies, no one would have dared call me a real wizard. We'll see if it's fitting.

Keith: Where can we hide while Corrigan eliminates the lookout, Jorr?

Jorr: Hmmm, I reckon here's about the only place out of eyeshot of those walls. I say we send him up to scout, and see if there even is a lookout before we go planning on killing one.

Jorr: You up for it?

Corrigan smirks
Corrigan: Always, my friend.

Keith: Well, Corrigan... can you do it quickly and quietly, without the aid of a spell? I don't believe it will last two trips.

Corrigan: Sure. I’ve made it through tighter spots than this.

Keith: Well, I guess we all wait here, then?

Corrigan draws his hood up and heads up the footpath, stepping silently into the brush on the side of it and vanishing like a ghost.

---

Draggert: While we stay, Keith, can Draggert look at your things?
Draggert points at Keith’s bag.

Keith shows Draggert his things, other than his spell scrolls and book, which includes many alchemical items

Draggert points to Keith’s spellbook.

Keith: Absolutely not, Draggert. Sorry.

Draggert: Why not? Draggert think he have one like that!

Keith: You can't even read!

Draggert’s voice drops a little, as though his feelings are hurt.
Draggert: Why you say that?

Keith’s tone is pompous.
Keith: Well, if you do have another like this, I should love to see it!

Draggert: You let me see Keith's first.

Keith sighs.

Draggert smiles

Keith: I'm going to show you one page, Draggert. One page.

Draggert speaks eagerly.
Draggert: Ok.

Keith shows him a page for a simple cantrip. There is a small, shaded diagram of a hand held in a particular position with the fingers splayed, surrounded by wispy runes in a strange language.

Draggert is mesmerized and keeps the memory.

Draggert: My turn.
Draggert pulls out a partially burnt and tattered spellbook with the name “Memnor” embossed on the front. There is a handprint singed into the binding.

Valandil looks over curiously, trying unsuccessfully to hide his interest.

---

Corrigan moves up the slope, through the undergrowth.

The old keep materializes out of the trees ahead. It is in very poor repair. The gatehouse is partially collapsed, as is a section of wall to the south. A small wooden building sits next to the remains of a long-abandoned garden in front of the structure. The walls surrounding the keep are about fifteen feet high, with a two-story tower looming in the southwest corner of the courtyard within. Large boulders lie strewn amid the ruins of the two watch towers, and a massive humanoid skeleton slumps amid the ruins in the northern one. This skeleton still wears tattered fragments of leather armor, and a large club lies next to its bony arm.

Corrigan carefully scouts the perimeter of the keep, keeping his eyes and ears strained to the limit. He hears nothing but the gentle buzz of the insects in the trees, and is almost chagrined to realize with certainty that there are no guards posted.

Nevertheless, Corrigan moves slowly and carefully to the tower to get a closer look.

The old tower is beginning to crumble, but is still quite sheer and well-built. A tiny window looks down from about 30 feet up the tower’s 40-foot edifice.

Corrigan creeps through the brush until he approaches the crumbled wall around the keep. He peers carefully out and around the broken wall, one hand warily resting on the hilt of his sword, and looks in at the courtyard.

The courtyard of hard-packed earth has an eerie air of desolation. Jagged boulders embedded in the ground seem to have been dropped here, or thrown with tremendous force from a great distance; many of the walls bear dents and cracks where they probably once struck. Two more massive skeletons lie at opposite ends of the area. One is propped up by the watchtower, and one is sprawled by the far end by a building that was probably once a stable. To the south, where a section of the keep's outer wall has collapsed, a third giant skeleton lies partially buried in the rubble.

Corrigan surveys it all, and then moves as quietly as he can back down the hillside.

---

Keith: Corrigan has certainly been gone a long time...

Draggert: I hope he not dead. If he is, we will bury him so birds do not take his flesh.

Keith: Draggert, you remember in that book, when I said the word morbid was bad, and elves didn't like it?

Draggert: Yes.

Keith: Do you remember what morbid means?

Draggert: You just say not to use that word.

Keith: Well, there's an elf here. And it's when you talk about our friends like they are dead.

Draggert: No...no. I say IF he is dead.

Keith: "Corrigan's guts are burning." That is morbid, Draggert.

Draggert: Ok.
Draggert: I hope he not dead.

Keith: Me, too.

Draggert: Specially by fire in his stomach.

Valandil: Hahaha, are you trying to trick the poor fellow? Telling him he shouldn't use words, then using them? You should be ashamed of yourself! It's alright, Draggert, your friend isn't dead, and I won't be mad if you talk about dead people.

Keith: Have you heard of a baelnorn, elf?

Valandil: Of course I have. What about it?

Keith: Nothing...just the bizarre dichotomy of elves and death struck me.

Valandil: Of course, and the foolishness of humans just now struck me.

Corrigan returns at last, appearing rather suddenly out of the green undergrowth.
Corrigan: There are no guards, as far as I can tell.

Draggert: That mean no hobgoblins either?

Corrigan shrugs.
Corrigan: The keep is strewn with the skeletons of huge creatures, though. Looked like giants.

Keith: Well... I trust you, I guess. Must be the forest giants from the story. We should go up there, then? And plan further?

Draggert stands.

Jorr grunts absentmindedly.

Valandil: I must have killed more than I remembered...they were everywhere when I came last. Perhaps you just didn't look hard enough, boy. I suppose we should go in together and check.

Corrigan: Return with me, then. I didn’t check inside the buildings that still stand.

Keith: Okay. Steel yourselves, everyone.

Draggert brushes dirt from the dreamcatcher woven into his long hair.
Draggert: Let’s go.

Jorr stuffs a wad of chaw into his mouth, draws his bow and knocks an arrow.
Jorr: Well, I'm ready.

Valandil: Let me do some quick preparations before we set out.
Valandil speaks a few arcane syllables and passes his hands over himself. A ghostly suit of blueish chainmail appears on his form and slowly fades from view. He draws his bow and is ready to set out.

Keith: Good idea.
Keith casts the same spell, though the suit of armor that envelops him is an embroidered jerkin that fades from view.

Keith: Also, Draggert, I would really feel better if you came here, a moment.
Keith waves his hands over Draggert and speaks some words. He pulls an arrowhead from a pouch and encloses it in his fist. When the spell is finished, the arrowhead is gone.

Valandil: Humph, completely unnecessary, but what can one expect of a human boy who claims to be a wizard? Shall we go?

Throrin grips his hammer in one hand and his shield in the other. He has been quiet, scowling. He doesn’t like any of this. He follows the others up the hill.